Page 18 of Holiday Cheese and Capers
“The switched wheels. It doesn’t match the Culture Vulture’s pattern at all.” She was studying him with those sharp eyes, the ones that had seen through so many lies while evaluating rival operatives in the field. “The other incidents were moredestructive. Designed to ruin production. But this? This just felt like... mischief.”
“Maybe the Culture Vulture isn’t all bad,” Bayard said, trying to sound confident. “Perhaps they’re just trying to make a point.”
Exandra shook her head slowly. “I don’t think so. This incident was different. It was almost like...”
She trailed off, her gaze moving past him to where Minerva was coming up the gangplank, and her expression darkened.
“Never mind,” she said abruptly. “I’ll figure it out. That’s what I do.”
She walked away before Bayard could respond, leaving him standing there with his backpack reeking of evidence and his heart in his throat. Fred quacked softly and bumped his head against Bayard’s hand.
“I know,” Bayard whispered. “I’m in way over my head, aren’t I?”
Fred just stared at him with those knowing eyes.
In her cabinlater that evening, Exandra paced, her mind churning. There were two actual incidents now, counting today’s switch and the incident upstream that she knew Bayard had reported to the Society. She’d done her best to make the meltdown at the Swiss Fromagerie look like a real sabotage, something professional and dangerous. Though of course she’d had a plan to save the day before any cheese was harmed. If onlyMinerva hadn’t gotten there first. She still couldn’t believe she’d been foiled by a mouse shifter.
But today’s incident was different. Mostly because it wasso good. She wished she’d thought of it first. It was almost playful. Suddenly she found herself rooting for the Culture Vulture, and wishing the villain whose name she’d invented was real.
She thought of Bayard’s expression when Philippe had been pontificating about worthiness. The way his jaw had tightened. The way he’d disappeared for those few minutes.
It couldn’t have been him, could it?
No. She dismissed the possibility. It was impossible. Bayard wasn’t a saboteur. He was careful, methodical, thoughtful, and above all a rule follower. He would never…
CHEDDAR DAYS AHEAD
The momentThe Celestine Queencrossed into the Cornish airspace above Blythe Meadowsweet’s farm, they all felt the change. The sharp December chill that had accompanied them through Switzerland and France simply... evaporated. Warm sunlight flooded the deck, and when Minerva looked down at the countryside below, everything blazed in the glorious technicolor hues of summer.
“We’re in the bubble,” Bayard explained to the assembled passengers. “Blythe maintains a permanent summer enchantment over her farm. She maintains that happy cows need sunshine year-round, and happy cows make better cheese.”
“Sounds a little kooky,” someone murmured.
“Perhaps, but at the moment, I’d say delightfully so,” Bayard said. He turned his face toward the sun and took a moment to bask in the glorious warming rays.
Several passengers crowded up onto the deck to watch as the ship slowly lowered itself into an oversized pond at the edge of the unusual, sprawling farm. The air temperature was a balmy72 degrees Fahrenheit, with a light breeze and neither too much nor too little humidity in the air. It was enough to make the group heave a collective sigh of relief. Not that any of them complained about the winter chill in their other tour locations. It was just something that they’d all been braced for. And now there was no longer a reason to brace. On the contrary, Minerva had the sudden and uncharacteristic desire to find herself a hammock to nap in.
The creamery itself looked like it had been plucked from a pastoral painting and given a psychedelic makeover. The main barn was painted in swirling rainbow patterns. Dreamcatchers hung from every available tree branch, and wind chimes fashioned from cow bells created a constant musical backdrop. The cows themselves were bell-less. They wandered freely over the property, sashaying across the patios and through the gardens, tails swishing, haunches swaying. They were completely unconcerned with fences or boundaries.
Barefoot on the muddy banks of the pond, waiting to greet them, stood Blythe Meadowsweet herself. She jumped up and down with childish enthusiasm, waving excitedly as the gangplank was lowered.
“Wow!” Wren exclaimed. Even the normally erudite blogger was at a loss for words.
Blythe was magnificent, one of the most beautiful earth witches that Minerva had ever seen. Her long silver hair flowed loose to her waist, woven through with fresh wildflowers—daisies, cornflowers, and ethereal sprigs of baby’s breath. Her dress was an elaborate patchwork creation in every color imaginable, layered with scarves and shawls that billowed around her like wings. She also wore rings on her fingers and all her toes,multiple beaded and belled necklaces, and a solar bright smile that could have powered a small village.
Blythe never seemed to stop moving. Her natural ebullience kept her spinning, dancing, and flinging her whole self into gratuitous hugs.
“Welcome, welcome, my loves!” she called out, her voice rich and warm. “Come ashore! Don’t be shy, pets. The cows won’t bite—well, Buttercup might nibble your sleeve, but if she does, rest assured she means it affectionately.”
As if on cue, a golden-brown cow ambled over and nuzzled Jasper, who went pale and froze in place.
“That’s my girl,” Blythe cooed, scratching the cow behind her ears. “Showing our guests proper Cornish hospitality, aren’t you, darlin’?”
Bayard approached with Fred’s carrier, and Blythe’s face lit up like she’d just discovered a hoard of buried treasure.
“You must be Bayard Fontaine!” She practically floated toward him, her scarves trailing. “Oh, but the photographs don’t do you justice, do they? Such distinguished features. And these eyebrows!” She reached up—actually reached up with both hands—and touched his face, turning it side to side. “Like little expressive clouds of wisdom, they are. Your aura is divine, too. The soul of a poet and the mind of a scientist. Quite a rare combination.” Blythe licked her lips like she meant to devour him.
Bayard blinked, clearly caught off guard. “I, uh, thank you? This is a beautiful operation you’ve?—”
